


Ink

by MelayneSeahawk



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>jim participates in a different kind of alien ritual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

Jim paints the lines on his skin, swirls of black ink with the occasional accent in red. He begins with his left wrist and works his way up his arm to the shoulder. He has a schematic of the final design on a PADD sitting next to him on the bed, but he doesn't consult it very often. Something about the design feels _right_, like it's coming from somewhere deep in his soul rather than painstaking research.

Maybe it is.

*

"So, tell me about the next mission," Jim says, skidding the last step into the turbolift before it closes.

"Captain, I am aware that you read our mission reports 99.86% of the time," Spock says. "I do not understand why you request my summary of said reports."

"Just making sure I didn't miss anything," he says, and he can tell Spock isn't convinced. "Okay, fine. We're stopping at Omicron Velorum Beta so that you and the science team can examine some mineral readings the _Venturer_ picked up while on patrol. The planet is class M, so you're also going to check out the local flora and fauna. The planet is believed to be uninhabited, and might be suitable for colonization at a later point. Did I miss anything?"

"No, Captain," Spock says, with the faintest curl of his lips on one side that Jim knows means Spock is pleased. "We will discuss the particulars at the delta shift meeting."

The turbolift door opens just as Jim smirks at him. "See you then, Commander," he says, slapping Spock on the arm.

*

The pattern is actually a series of letters. The normally calligraphic figures are even more stylized, but a trained eye would be able to read them. Jim continues from his shoulder in a stripe across his chest, with a circle of symbols over his side. There's more red there, too, delicate strokes and sweeping spirals. Despite himself, Jim imagines the red ink is blood. Part of him thinks it should be green.

*

"The _Venturer_ was only able to do preliminary scans of the planet, so I would recommend the addition of a small security escort," Spock says, and Jim smiles slightly.

"Read my mind, Mr. Spock," Jim says, smiling even wider at Spock's raised eyebrow. "Not literally. Mr. Giotto, please arrange a four-man security team to join the away team."

"Is such a large escort necessary?" Spock asks, even as Giotto is nodding and scrolling through something on his PADD.

"I'm sending my most valuable scientific personnel to the surface of a planet we know almost nothing about," Jim says. "I can be overly cautious."

"Logical."

Jim feels that little thrill Spock has been eliciting in him more and more. Even though he knows that Spock and Uhura ended their relationship over a year ago, Jim has no intention of making a move. He and Spock are friends—good friends, on their way to that epic friendship of Old Spock's, maybe—and he's not going to fuck that up just because he thinks his First Officer is attractive as well as brutally intelligent.

"Sir, I'm forwarding my suggestions to your PADD," Giotto interrupts Jim's musing, and there's a beep as it's received.

"Chekov, how long until we reach Omicron Velorum Beta?" Jim asks, forgoing the use of a stylus and using his fingers to tap the command into his PADD to attach Giotto's note to the mission brief.

"Twelve hours at current speed, keptin," is the reply, and Jim nods.

"Plenty of time to prepare," Jim says. "I'll accompany the away team, and I know you've already sent me your team requests, Spock. I'll reply before the beginning of gamma shift. Dismissed, all."

Spock sticks around until the conference room is clear, and Jim already knows what he's going to say. "Captain, since this is a purely scientific mission, would it not be prudent for you to remain on the _Enterprise_ rather than accompanying the away team? While your presence would certainly be more of a help than a hindrance," he adds, and Jim decides to take that as a compliment, "it is standing operating procedure that the captain and the first officer only leave the ship at the same in dire emergencies."

"You never let me have any fun," Jim says, rolling his eyes.

"On the contrary, Captain, Dr. McCoy informed me I allowed you to have entirely too much fun the last time I was tasked with accompanying you on shore leave."

Jim laughed out loud. "He was just mad he was stuck on the ship," he says. "And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Jim?" Spock quirked an eyebrow at him and swept out of the room. "At least once more, I guess," Jim said to the closed door.

*

The Vulcan symbols flow from Jim's brush like water. Romulans wear this kind of mourning ink on their faces, their grief on display for all the world to see, but Vulcans are different in this way, too. The chemical composition of the ink is almost identical, and the words are similar, but Vulcans hide even the visible signs of their mourning under layers of clothes. It had been a challenge to get any information about the ritual at all, until he decided to cheat and contact Old Spock. Suddenly he was inundated with reference material, along with a simple note: _I grieve with thee._

*

"The mission is proceeding as expected," Spock's voice said, piped through to the bridge intercom. "There is evidence of large predators, but Lieutenant Abernathy is certain with a very small margin of error that none of the predators are in the immediate area at this time."

"Still, keep an eye out," Jim said. "Do you want additional security personnel?"

"We will remain vigilant," Spock said. "Lieutenant Uhura, please ready the consol for an uplink of our findings."

Jim idly listens to the assorted computer noises while he works on paperwork. Suddenly, there's a crash, and it takes Jim a moment to realize that it's coming through the comms. "Spock?" he asks, just as he can hear the telltale sound of phaser fire. "Report, damnit."

There's more crashing and the whine of phasers. "I believe Leiutenant Abernathy's estimation has a greater margin of error that first asserted," Spock finally says, and Jim would laugh but it's _not funny_. "We are currently beset by a dozen catlike creatures, clearly functioning as a pack." There's a distinctly humanoid scream, and Jim winces. "I will not longer be able to communicate at this time."

"Transporter room, get them out of there!" Jim yells. The audio from the planet is getting progressively worse: less phasers, more screaming. The biometers on Peters and Abernathy have already gone dead, and Ramirez, Goldberg, and Le aren't looking good.

"We're compensating for the creatures," a voice says. Someone from the transporters, Jim can't tell who. "It'll take another minute."

"They don't have that kind of time," Jim says through clenched teeth, as Le's meter goes dark, too. He flicks the switches on his panel to call up engineering and sickbay. "Scotty, get down to the transporter room. I want that team off the planet _now_. Bones, get someone down there."

There's a loud clatter from the away team; Spock must have dropped his communicator. Time suddenly seems to stop as another blaring alarm announces that Spock is dead.

It takes a minute before Jim realizes that the transporter room is announcing that they have the away team—what's left of it—and declaring a medical emergency. _Duh_, Jim wants to say. He also wants to punch something, but he knows neither instinct is correct right now. "Sulu, take the con," he calls distractedly, practically jumping from the chair and flying to the turbolift.

He's barely aware of the trip to the transporter room, and it's organized chaos when he arrives. Ramirez and Goldberg are being rushed away on stretchers, passing him in the corridor before he even reaches the transporter room itself. Gupta and Xi'li are still standing, and nurses are escorting them out of the room more slowly. And there's a line of four bundles wrapped in science blue tarps on the floor. He can identify Michaela Peters and Jenny Le in the smaller bundles, but somehow Jim is drawn to the first one in the line. He kneels and pulls back the sheet, revealing Spock's grey, blood-stained face.

*

After his chest, Jim should be doing his back, but he'd need help and this isn't something he wants to share. Instead, he's adjusted the pattern to encircle his right leg. It's pre-Reformation romanticism, but the right side of the body was once associated with the heart, which in turn was associated with love.

*

Jim waits to come to sickbay until after Gupta and Xi'li have been released to their quarters, Goldberg to the overnight rooms for observation, and Ramirez to the cargo bay they use as a morgue when needed. It's not like he doesn't have responsibilities elsewhere: writing up a report for the _clusterfuck_ of a mission, beginning letters to families, staring resolutely at the viewscreen as Omicron Velorum Beta disappears behind them. Jim knows he shouldn't be angry at a planet for taking Sp—five members of his crew, but part of him really wants to.

Bones has already started into a bottle of whiskey when Jim arrives, and there's a glass on the desk waiting for him. He sprawls in the other chair without speaking, and Bones calls the door override to the computer. This is a ritual of theirs, started after the first time Jim had lost a crewman. Only Spock could override the door.

Spock is dead.

Jim tosses back his first glass and holds it out for more. Bones looks concerned put pours him another. "Haven't had to tell you to slow down in a while," he says.

Jim grins crookedly, but it's almost a grimace. "It shouldn't be worse, losing one crew member over another."

"That doesn't make you a bad captain," Bones says softly. "Spock is—was your best friend."

Jim laughs bitterly, shaking his head. "If only it were that simple," he says, cradling his refilled glass but not drinking. "I…I loved him, Bones. And I never told him. He didn't know."

"Somehow I think he might have done," Bones says, his Georgia drawl even stronger than usual. "Anyone could see he loved you, too."

Jim doesn't find that as comforting as he would have liked. "What do I do now?"

"You keep going," Bones says. "You do the ceremony tomorrow, send them all out into space, and then you go on to your next mission. It's all you can do." Jim shakes his head, but doesn't answer. "Gravestones cheer the living, dear, they're no use to the dead."

Something about the way Bones says it makes Jim think of a song, but it's not familiar. "I don't know," he says instead of asking. It all feels so wrong. He knows that he was just beginning, that _they_ were just beginning, not just from Old Spock's words but from the hollow feeling in his gut. It's worse than growing up with his father's ghost, worst than Tarsus, worse even than Vulcan. For a moment, Jim feels sick.

Jim tosses back his second drink and stands. He doesn't say thank you, but he knows Bones doesn't expect it. Instead, he places the glass back on the desk and leaves the office.

And when he gets back to his quarters, he sits down and looks up Vulcan mourning rituals in the 'Fleet database.

*

Jim imagines he feels a loosening of the knot in his chest when he finishes applying the mourning ink, but even he's not convinced. It's been weeks since the mission, since Jim blasted Spock and the others out into space. It hasn't gotten any easier.

Following the ritual, Jim finishes by writing Spock's name on his side, where the Vulcan heart would be. There are hundreds of other names in the barely perceptible weight of the ink, but there's just the one he still has nightmares over. He heard Spock die, and there was nothing he could do. And now it feels like there's a hole inside him where Spock used to be.

Jim walks, naked, into the bathroom he'd shared with his First Officer to look at the final product, though he knows what it will look like. Vulcan tradition states that mourning ink should be worn for a set period of time, but Jim had been idly surfing the spacenet for reputable tattoo stations at their next starbase stop. Bones would kill him, but he'd understand.

Jim knows Spock wouldn't want him to cry, but he can't help it.


End file.
